


Not Your Typical Frat Boy

by rpfwriters



Series: Frat Boy Chris Evans [1]
Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Frat Boy Chris Evans, Mardi Gras, Oral Sex, Partying, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: You meet Chris for the first time.





	1. First Meeting

You only wanted to kill some time. Have a little fun, down a few drinks, while you waited for the guys Tara had set you up with to make an appearance. Except you hadn’t counted on meeting him.

“Chris!” Tara squealed as soon as he walked through the back gate. She grabbed your hand and dragged you after her, stopping in front of a very tall, far too attractive, muscles-bursting-from-his-shirt, bearded guy wearing a black, backwards baseball cap. His shirt was pink, though you suspected it had once been red. It looked like it had been washed about a million times, the collar split in a couple of places, the logo so faded you could barely make it out. It was tight across the shoulders, the cotton soft and worn. You could see the skin of his back through the thin cotton. He was wearing long slung sweatpants, so tight they left nothing to the imagination.

Tara threw herself into his arms, giggling when he stumbled back a couple of steps. She planted a wet, sloppy kiss on his bearded cheek, her hands splayed across his chest.

“Y/N,” she grinned, “this is my buddy, Chris.” She patted his substantial pectoral muscle. “Aint he cute?”

You grinned and stuck out your hand. He took it, his hand engulfing yours. “Hi,” he purred.

“Hi,” you murmured. God, he was more than cute, he was downright fuckable. Too bad he was probably a typical, frat boy douchebag or you might give him a chance.

You hung out with Chris and his friends for a little while, your focus on Chris far more than the other guys with him. He was funny, goofy, it seemed to come naturally to him, making everyone around him laugh. It was obvious he was kind of sweet, attentive in a way you hadn’t expected, making eye contact with anyone who was talking, making sure they knew he was listening to them. You wanted that attention to be on you.

Tara managed to drag you away fifteen minutes later, insisting you hang out by the patio entrance to wait for your dates. She planted the two of you in a couple of chairs beside the makeshift bar, close enough to the keg that you got to watch Chris as he downed beer after beer, none of it seeming to affect him. You tried not to watch him, tried to remember that you were waiting for someone, that you were taken for the evening, taken by some guy you didn’t know that Tara had met at the bar she worked at. But Chris wasn’t making it easy, especially when he and his buddies set up a beer pong game just a few feet away from you and he kept throwing glances your direction.

“Come play,” he asked leaning over you, so close you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his sparkling blue eyes.. “You’ve been sitting here watching us for almost an hour. Come play. I wanna see what you got.”

“We can’t, we’re expecting someone,” Tara interjected.

“Who?” Chris demanded, crouching beside you, his hand on your knee. “Who could possibly be more interesting than me?”

“There’s this guy, Tara’s hooking me up with him -”

“Hooking up with?” Chris tilted his head to one side, his blue eyes wide.

“Not like that,” you giggled, punching him on the shoulder. He shrugged one shoulder, his face stoic, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Why? Does that bother you? Me with some other guy?”

Chris didn’t answer you, instead he rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come play with me.” He tipped his head toward the beer pong table.

“Fine,” you laughed. “I’m tired of sitting here anyway.” You shrugged at Tara and pushed yourself to your feet.

“You think you can take me?” Chris teased as you followed him to the folding table covered in red Solo cups filled with beers.

“I can give you a run for your money,” you mumbled.

“Yeah?” he laughed, grabbing the ping pong ball and bouncing it off the table, catching it on the tips of his fingers with the back of his hand.

You were screwed. Chris knew what he was doing.

You held your own for the first few minutes, but it wasn’t long before things stopped going your way. Twenty minutes after the first ball hit the table, you were down to four cups of beer, while Chris still had seven. Seven. It was getting difficult to concentrate, not only because of the alcohol roaring through your system, but from Tara yanking on your arm, reminding you that your “dates” were due any minute, the loud music that was thumping through your veins, and your inability to stop staring at Chris.

The ease in which he played, the delight he took every time the ball landed in the cup, it was downright irresistible. You were only playing some stupid game, but Chris was thoroughly enjoyable to watch. Why hadn’t Tara set you up with him?

When you missed again, for the seventh time in a row, Chris snatched the ping pong ball off the table, bouncing it in his hand several times, before stepping around the end of the table to stand right behind you. He wrapped his hand around your upper arm, and leaned over your shoulder, his beard tickling the skin of your neck, his breath warm against your cool skin. His hand slid down to yours, his fingers lacing with yours. He turned your hand over and set the ball in your palm.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he murmured. God, his voice was breathy, sexy, titillating. It made you want to peel off your clothes and his and do all sorts of naughty things to him. You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate.

Chris’s hand guided yours and the next thing you knew, the ping pong ball was bouncing off the table and landing in one of the cups. Chris chuckled in your ear, stepped away from you and around the table, snatched up the cup, and chugged it, downing it in just a few swallows. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then he winked at you.

“Fucker,” you mumbled under your breath.

Chris must have heard you, because he was on you in about two seconds flat, his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards out of the harsh light coming from the LED bulb on the back patio fixture and into the shadows. He didn’t stop until your back was resting against the wood slats of the fence.

“What did you say?” he growled, his lips inches from yours.

You didn’t get a chance to repeat yourself though, because his mouth was on yours and he was kissing you, insistent and greedy, slightly drunk, tasting like beer. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, one foot snaking around the back of his calf, your hips tilting up to meet his. He pushed closer, his body flush against yours, every inch of his thick, solid muscled body holding you in place. Your hands ran up and down his chest, tentatively exploring. You were giddy with the thoughts running through your head.

“Y/N?” Tara yelled from somewhere to your right. “Y/N?” You tried to ignore her, but she was loud when she’d had too much to drink, loud and headed this direction, a couple of guys you didn’t know trailing behind her.

“Crap,” you mumbled, breaking off the kiss, your head falling back against the fence. “Tara’s looking for me. Dates must be here.”

Chris kissed a line down your throat, his hand near your head, his body still pressed against yours. He circled his hips a little, smirking when you moaned and dug your fingers into the back of his neck.

“You still wanna go on that blind date?” Chris whispered. “Or spend some time with me?”

There was only one answer.

“You,” you breathed.

Chris didn’t hesitate, taking your hand and leading you through the house, away from your best friend calling your name, moving quickly until you were so turned around you had no idea where you were. He opened a door at the end of a long hallway and pulled you inside.

It was an office, or a den, or something, not that you had much time to look around because Chris was pushing you into the room, and pulling you down on the couch, his mouth on yours, his hands on your waist as he curled around you, his legs tangled with yours. His hand slid up your side, pushing your dark blue tank top up, coming to rest on your breast, gently kneading it. He leaned down, his mouth closing around the nipple still covered by your lacy black bra, sucking greedily. You grabbed his ass and pulled him closer, his hips nestled against yours.

“Chris,” you gasped.

His head came up, an adorable smirk on his face. He braced his foot against the arm of the couch and rocked into you, his obvious arousal pressing into you. His lips closed around your pulse point, nibbling and sucking.

Your heart was pounding, ready to burst from your chest, your breath tearing in and out of your throat as Chris moved up your neck to your lips, your lips crashing together, tongues tangling. You yanked his shirt up, your fingers dancing over the tight muscles of his stomach, slipping them just past the edge of the waistband of his sweats, stopping short of actually touching him.

“Don’t tease,” he groaned.

You grasped him through the thin sweatpants, stroking him roughly, his hips bucking, pressing himself into your hand. You threw your leg over his hip and ground your hips against his, drawing another moan from him as the zipper of your jeans pressed into him.

He in turn, was fumbling with the button on your jeans, releasing it, then sliding down your zipper, and pushing his fingers past your panties. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” Chris growled, palming you, easing one finger inside of you, his thumb circling your clit.

It was all frantic tugging and pulling at clothes after that, lips and hands everywhere, hips grinding together, both of you so completely turned on that you were spiraling out of control. You couldn’t think straight, your body was wound so tight, your focus solely on Chris, and the way he was making you feel.

Your shirt was off, your jeans shoved down past your hips, Chris’s shirt and hat were on the floor, the hard line of his cock was straining against the barely-there cotton of his sweatpants as you stroked him. His hand was between your legs, his fingers teasing, exploring, thrusting, the veins in his arms standing out starkly against his muscled forearms.

“Dude, we gotta go!”

The loud voice and the pounding on the door was enough to startle both of you, so much so that you fell off the couch, scrambling to gather your clothes. Chris yanked on his shirt and hurried to the door, opening it just enough to peer out. You could hear him whispering with someone, though you couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, then the door was closing and he was at your side. Before you could say anything, he put his arms around you and kissed you.

“I gotta go,” he grinned. He kissed the tip of your nose. “I’ll call you.”

And then he was gone. Without your number and without leaving his.

“Fucker,” you moaned.


	2. One Week Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week since Chris left you high and dry after a hot makeout session.

You hated working weekends, especially the late shift, because every single person that came through the door of the Waffle House was a drunk college student. They were loud, they were obnoxious, they made a mess, they acted like assholes. Of course, you’d done your fair share of exactly that before you’d gotten the job waitressing at the popular hang out, but once you started working there, you reined it in.

It was almost midnight, your feet were killing you, and you still had an hour to go when the door flew open and about ten guys walked in. Frat boy douchebags from the look of them - tank tops, flip flops, backwards caps, loud, obnoxious, and not what you wanted to deal with right now. They’d been drinking, obviously; their laughter filled the small restaurant, and a couple of them were dancing, bottles still in their hands. And of course, they sat in your section. 

You were only steps away from the table, bracing yourself for the onslaught of obnoxious frat boys, when a pair of brilliant blue eyes met yours.

Chris.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

You weren’t ready for this. You were still angry with him for leaving you half naked and horny as hell last weekend. You had no intention of forgiving him that easily.

But he smiled at you, and damn if he didn’t look incredible. His beard was short, shorter than it had been just a week ago, he was wearing that damn backwards ballcap again, and another tight as fuck t-shirt that was straining to cover his muscles. One look and you were considering letting him off the hook, forgiving him. Why did he have to be so attractive, so very attractive, hotter than Hell really, and honestly, damn near irresistible? Dammit, you wanted to be mad at him.

Irritated, more with yourself than Chris, you spun on your heel and hurried back through the restaurant, pushing through the swinging door, almost knocking down the woman you were looking for. 

“Maureen, please, please, please take my table?” you begged the older woman. “I can’t deal with that crowd tonight.”

Maureen glanced out the window in the door. “I’ll take it,” she sighed. “But you owe me. Big time.”

You threw your arms around the older woman, hugging her tight. “Thank you!” 

You replaced Maureen at the counter, though you kept one eye on the table with Chris and his friends. You didn’t fail to notice how he kept glancing your way, or the way he smiled, so cocky, so sure of himself. He made a face when Maureen arrived at the table and you had to turn away so as not to giggle, reminding yourself that you were mad at him.

You were surprised at how quickly the next hour went by, but that was probably because your attention was split between finishing your shift, and watching Chris from across the room. You took one last look at him as you hung your apron on the hook by the door, then you slipped outside.

You were almost to your car, keys in your hand, when you heard someone call your name. You swung around to see Chris jogging across the lot toward you, that damn confident smirk on his face.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you yelled, walking backwards for a few steps, trying your best to glare at the frat boy coming toward you.

“Give me five minutes,” he begged. He caught up with you and grabbed your arm. “Please.”

You pulled away from him and leaned against the side of your car. “I’ll give you two.”

Chris rolled his eyes and took a step closer. He reached out and laced his fingers through yours. “I fucked up the other night,” he shrugged. “I left you -”

“You left me half naked, horny, and alone in a frat house,” you snapped. “You ditched me.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I have no excuse other than I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are,” you nodded.

Chris took a step toward you, so close there wasn’t an inch of space between you. He put his hands on your waist and leaned over you. “Let’s kiss and make up,” he purred.

You wanted to say no, you really did, you even shook your head and pursed your lips. But deep down inside, you knew you didn’t mean it. And when his lips brushed across yours, you kissed him back, just a little, still trying to convince yourself that you did not want to forgive him.

You sighed, your head falling back against the roof of your car, your hands fisting in Chris’s shirt. Before you could push him away - not that you wanted to - his lips were on your neck, the scruff on his chin scratching your sensitive skin. You tipped your head back further, a moan slipping past your lips, Chris’s kissing becoming more and more insistent.

“Chris,” you sighed.

He took a step back, his hands still on you. “Let’s go back to my place,” he whispered, his blue eyes pleading with you. “Please?”

* * *

You were crazy, insane, out of your mind, and you didn’t care, not when Chris had his arms around you, his nose nuzzling your neck, his chest pressed to your back as he pushed open the door to the frat house, and guided you upstairs. You didn’t have time to be surprised that it was unusually quiet for a Saturday night, you were too busy enjoying the feel of Chris’s hands on your body, and the way he was kissing you.

Chris pushed you through a bedroom door at the end of the hall, chuckling as the two of you stumbled over the clothes strewn around the room. He closed and locked the door while you slipped off your coat and kicked off your shoes. Two long strides and you were in his arms, his fingers deftly releasing the buttons on your shirt, his lips on yours, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. You were tingling, on fire, aching to feel him. 

Impatient, you tugged at his clothes, his jacket, his jeans, pushing his shirt up and over his head, your fingers drifting down the muscles of his stomach. He laughed and shoved his jeans off, letting them fall to the floor, then he was pushing you backwards, the two of you falling to the bed. Chris pulled you beneath him, kissing you, caressing you, gently taking off the rest of your clothes. Once you were naked beneath him, he slid down your body, kissing you, hovering over you, his tongue tracing your belly button, your hipbones, licking at the inside of your thighs. 

“Chris,” you groaned, your hips bucking as his fingers slowly caressed you, his flattened tongue sliding through the lips of your pussy. You fisted your hands in the mismatched sheets covering the bed, your back arching, moaning obscenely.

He was unbelievable, the way is mouth and fingers moved in tandem, the way his attention was completely focused on you, the way he was doing everything possible to make you come. He pushed forward, his hands now under your ass, squeezing as he lifted you closer, his head moving side to side, his tongue deep inside you, sounds like you’d never heard before coming from him as he devoured you like a starving man.

The orgasm was sharp, sudden, and intense, burning through you like fire consuming paper. Your thighs clamped down around his head, one hand on the back of his head, the other scrambling to hold on to something, anything, as wave after wave of the most insane pleasure you’d ever felt rolled through you.

Chris didn’t release you until you were a trembling, spent mess sprawled across his bed. Your hair was in your face, a fine sheen of sweat covered you, and you weren’t sure you’d be able to move any time soon. It was fucking incredible.

He dragged his scruff covered chin up your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button, laving your nipple, sliding up your neck. He caught your lips in his, the taste of you on his lips, his tongue, his hips nestled in yours, his cock brushing against your clit. 

You moaned, took him in your hand, and guided him to your entrance, gasping as his substantial length filled you. Chris’s hand moved up the back of your thigh, pulling your leg around his waist, easing into you, stretching you open. He braced a hand by your head, his forehead resting on yours, those damn blue eyes staring into yours, drowning you.

He moved slow, rocking his hips, his cock dragging against your sweet spot with every move. You bit your lip, trying to hold back your cries of pleasure, but it was so hard, so hard, because Chris was moving faster, burying his length inside you, pounding into you, fucking you into the mattress, the headboard slamming against the wall, the room filled with the sounds of sex, the sensations overwhelming you.

Chris was a man possessed, insatiable, slamming into you, pushing you to heights you hadn’t known existed. You came with a gasping scream, your nails digging into the globes of Chris’s perfect ass, pulling him tight against you. 

He thrust into you, impossibly deep, his entire body shuddering as he let go, his orgasm rolling through him, the vibrations making you tremble. He collapsed on top of you, crushing you beneath him for a second before rolling to his side and sliding his arm under you, pulling you close.

* * *

The sun was streaming through the window as you tiptoed around the room, trying to find your shoes. Chris stirred, pushing himself up, the pillow falling off of his head, his hair tousled, sleep marks on his cheeks. He looked at you over his shoulder.

“Where you going?” His voice was thick with sleep, his eyes half open.

“I’ve got study group in an hour,” you whispered.

“Skip it,” Chris grinned. “Stay here with me.”

“I can't,” you giggled. You sat on the edge of the bed beside him and ran your fingers through his hair. You leaned over and kissed his forehead, then you snatched your purse and jacket off the floor. “I’ll call you.”

You were out the door and halfway down the hall before you realized you didn't have his number.


	3. All Wrapped Up and Ready to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find a gift wrapped present outside your dorm room door.

You could hear shuffling and whispering just outside your door. You pressed your ear to it, wondering who the hell was out there this late at night. You heard laughter, and the sounds of people falling against the wall. You opened your phone and quickly dialed 9-1-1, though you didn’t press send. You peered out the peephole, afraid of what you would see.

A group of four or five guys were in the hall, laughing and stumbling around, carrying something that you couldn’t quite see. You heard a thump and a muffled curse, then the guys were running off down the hallway. You leaned your forehead against the door and counted to one hundred, waiting to see if they would return. When it remained silent, you threw the lock and yanked it open.

There was a man on the floor in front of your door, a naked man with a giant, red bow tied around his middle. His hands and feet were bound with what looked like a shredded sheet, a gag in his mouth. A folded piece of paper was taped to his chest with duct tape, ‘READ ME’ written across it.

“Chris!” you hissed. “What the hell?” You dropped your phone to the table by the door and crouched beside the naked man.

Chris’s head came up, his eyes barely open, an irresistibly goofy grin noticeable despite the gag. He stretched, the bow shifting, revealing that he was most definitely unclothed beneath the awkwardly tied bow. 

You carefully removed the note from his chest, Chris grimacing and letting out a muffled yelp as you pulled it from his chest hair. You had to press the back of your hand to your mouth as you read it, a futile attempt to hold back your laughter.

**_Dear Y/N-_ **

**_Here he is, all wrapped up and ready to go! He’s all yours, enjoy!_ **

**_P.S. He’s got it bad for you. He won’t fucking stop talking about you, maybe this will shut him up._ **

The note fluttered to the floor as you kneeled and tried to loosen the knots binding his limbs. They were tied unbelievably tight, and since you were only wearing a tank top and underwear, you settled for sliding your arms under Chris and dragging his two hundred plus pounds to his feet into your dorm room. You were desperately trying - and failing - not to look at what was so prominently on display beneath the bow. Once you managed to shove him into the room, you pushed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch your breath.

“Mmgpmph..” Chris grumbled, struggling against the makeshift bindings. 

“Hold on,” you giggled, opening a drawer and digging through it, eventually pulling out a pair of scissors. 

You cut the sheet holding his hands, then moved to his feet, still trying to keep your eyes off of the area the bow was covering. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen it before - the two of you were on-again, off-again definitely more than friends, but it felt wrong somehow to ogle him while he was tied up. 

The bindings finally fell to the ground. Chris reached up to remove the gag before collapsing spread eagle on your floor.

“Those bastards,” he grumbled, his words slightly slurred.

“Your so-called friends?” you asked. You sat beside him, grinning.

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” he said.

“Hell, yeah, I think it’s funny,” you agreed. “Chris, they dropped you in front of my door wrapped in nothing but a big red bow. I think it’s fucking hysterical.”

“Maybe you should unwrap me,” he suggested. He wiggled his eyebrows in what you were sure he thought was a seductive manner, but really, it just made you want to laugh.

You leaned over him, one hand on his chest, the other beside his head, your lips inches from his, suddenly serious. “Do you want me to unwrap you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he growled.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you to him, his lips crashing into yours. You slid your hand down his chest, grabbed the bow and gave it a tug.

The bow fell to the floor as Chris sat up and put his hands on your waist, his biceps flexing as he lifted you, putting you in his lap. He pulled you close, his arousal trapped between your bodies. You rocked your hips, dragging your soft, silk panties along the length of his cock. He groaned and bit at your lower lip, his hands sliding beneath the tank top you were wearing, cool against your overheated skin. 

You rocked again, rising up on your knees and coming back down in his lap, wiggling a little at the last second. Chris’s hands tightened on your waist, pulling you down onto him, a groan coming from you this time as his hard length pressed against your clit.

“Condom?” you gasped.

Chris pulled back to look at you, one eyebrow raised, a smirk on his bearded face. “Do you really think I’ve got a condom on me, Y/N?” He spread his arms wide, drawing attention to his nakedness and lack of clothing, anywhere.

You both burst into laughter at the same time, you hiding your face against his shoulder and shaking your head. “Shit, let me go see if my roommate is hiding one in her room.” You climbed off of him and ran for her room. Jesus, you were wound tight, ready to explode. She’d better have a fucking condom in there somewhere or you were going to have run through the hallways pounding on doors until you found one.

You stopped at the desk, rifling through it, opening drawers, moving papers. Her backpack was on the floor, so you snatched it up, digging through the pockets, finally dumping it on the bed. At the bottom of the bag you found a partially crushed box and inside, two condoms.

“Yes!” you squealed, returning to the living room, waving the condoms in triumph.

Chris had moved from the floor and was now half sitting, half lying sprawled across the overstuffed couch against the wall. He wiggled his eyebrows at you, then gestured for you to join him. You pulled off your tank top and kicked off your panties before crossing the room and straddling Chris.

“You lost your bow,” you whispered, your tongue tracing the curve of his ear.

“Did you like my bow?” he smirked, sitting up, his hands on your waist.

“I liked unwrapping it,” you giggled. You ripped open one of the condoms in your hand, leaned over him and slowly rolled it down his thick cock, drawing a groan from him. You sat up and kissed him, your tongue dipping into the corner of his mouth, lapping hungrily at his lips. He cupped the back of your head, pulling you close, his tongue tangling with yours. 

“Was it true? What the note said?” you murmured.

“What note?” Chris asked, his lips moving over your neck.

“The one taped on your chest,” you sighed. “Do you really have it bad for me?”

Chris’s fingers drifted between your thighs, teasing at your entrance, his lips still roaming your neck. “Jesus, Y/N, you don’t even know,” he groaned. “I got it bad. Can’t think straight most days.” 

You gasped as he eased two fingers into you, his thumb pressed to your clit, circling it slowly. He crooked his fingers, dragging them across your sweet spot, your hips bucking in response. His mouth sealed around your breast, sucking greedily, working you over until you were falling apart, the coil deep inside of you snapping, your body on fire as the orgasm ripped through you.

Chris lifted you and lowered yourself onto his substantial length, a moan rumbling through his chest as your warmth surrounded him. His hips rose, pushing himself deep inside of you, his eyes squeezed close, his back arching, his hands tightening on your hips. You planted your palms flat on his chest, rocking back and forth, Chris thrusting into you.

“Fuck,” he growled, one hand sliding up your back to your shoulder, pulling you down onto him, covering you in kisses, pushing you rapidly toward another climax, his cock buried inside you to the root, throbbing and pulsing, filling you so completely you thought you might explode. He slipped his other hand between your bodies, two fingers pressed to your clit, circling it repeatedly as he pumped his hips, sucking at your neck, marking you, his cock dragging against your sweet spot with every move.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, your body completely at his mercy as the orgasm built slowly, a steady spiral until you finally screamed out your pleasure, your nails digging into Chris’s neck, your hips bucking wildly as you came, bursts of pleasure exploding through you. Seconds later, Chris let go with a strangled cry, holding you tight, bruisingly tight, as his own climax encompassed him.  

Spent, you collapsed against his chest, moaning. Chris snorted, then he rolled you to your back, covering your body with his, kissing you. Too soon, he got up, disposed of the condom, and disappeared into your bedroom.

“What are you doing?” you yelled.

“Looking for something to wear!” he answered. “Can’t go out naked and I have a few fraternity brothers whose asses I need to kick.”

“What don’t you just stay here?” you laughed.

“Forever?” he replied. “Tempting. But, don’t worry sweetheart, I promise I’ll be back.” He emerged from your room with a towel wrapped around his waist. “This’ll have to do.”

You couldn’t stop giggling even as Chris pressed a kiss to your forehead, turned, and left, shooting a wink over his shoulder before he shut the door, the towel secured by nothing more than a small tuck on his left hip. You wondered how far he’d make it before it hit the ground. Probably not far.

You pushed yourself to your feet and hurried to yank on some clothes. Couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him. He might need you to rescue him again. You snatched the bow off the floor on your way out.

“Might need this,” you mumbled, slamming the door closed behind you.


	4. Friends with Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Chris have been friends with benefits for awhile. You’d like to officially make things exclusive and you’re hopeful he feels the same way.

“So, what is it with you two, anyway?” Tara asked, nodding toward Chris. “Are you official or what?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I have no idea,” you shrugged. “We’re not exclusive, at least we haven’t discussed being exclusive.”

“Chris isn’t seeing anyone,” Tara added.

“Neither am I,” you said. “But I still don’t know what that makes us - friends with benefits, fuck buddies, midnight booty calls, what?”

“Oh, come on!” Chris yelled at the television hanging over the bar.

“I’d be fuck buddies with Chris any day,” Tara sighed.

“Yeah, who wouldn’t?” you laughed. “I guess I should consider myself lucky.”

Chris threw a handful of popcorn at the television and yelled some colorful obscenities. You glanced at the screen. The Patriots were losing, which explained Chris’s reaction. Nothing made him angrier than his favorite team losing.

“How is it he looks that hot when he’s pissed?” you mumbled, taking a swallow from your beer.

“Who knows?” Tara giggled. “It’s downright sinful. And unfair to all all the other men in the world.”

You giggled and nodded your head. “Ain’t that the truth?” You signaled the bartender, pointing at the nearly empty glasses in front of you.

Tara pushed her glass away from her almost as soon as the bartender set it down. “Keep me away from that tequila or I’ll be trying to get in Chris’s pants, okay?”

You laughed and smacked her on the arm. “Back off, woman,” you sneered playfully, “he’s mine.”

Tara laughed and shook her head. “You need to lay claim to that boy, Y/N, or someone is gonna snatch him up.” She eyed the drink in front her, mumbled “screw it,” picked up the shot glass and downed it in one swallow.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of Chris. You loved the way he threw himself into the game, taking every call against the Patriots personally, his beer splashing out of its glass every time he threw his arms up in the air in protest, the way he yelled at the television, the adorable faces he made. Even now, with the Patriots losing, you were enthralled with him, the slight pout on his lips as the clock ticked closer to the end, the inevitable about to happen, the way he sat forward on the stool, his elbows on his knees, praying for a miracle.

The collective groan from the group of college boys ten minutes later signaled the end of the game, not a happy ending for the Patriots from the sounds of it. A few minutes later, Chris dropped into the seat beside you, his head dropping to the bar, a dramatic sigh leaving him.

You laughed, rubbing a hand over his back. He turned on the stool and wrapped his arms around your waist, his face pressed against your neck, his beard tickling you. You giggled louder, playfully struggling to break free of his ironclad grip, a low chuckle coming from him.

“Come back to the frat house with me,” he growled, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “I need to take my mind off of this shitty game.”

“Chris,” you sighed, “I have class tomorrow.”

“So do I,” he smiled against your neck. “Please? I need a distraction. And you’re the best kind of distraction.”

You couldn’t resist him. You’d tried more times than you could count, but it was impossible. Even when he said stuff like that, when he used you as a distraction, you still couldn’t resist him. He was a giant goofball, not your usual boyfriend material. But oh God, did you want him to be. 

“Okay,” you murmured.

He smiled in triumph, then, before you could stop him, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, bringing one hand down and smacking your ass cheek.

“Hey!” you squealed.

“Later,” Chris called over his shoulder as he pushed open the bar door, catcalls and whistles following the two of you out the door.

Chris dropped you to your feet beside his truck, pushing you against the door, catching your lips in his, his hands snaking beneath your shirt and up your sides. You moaned and leaned into him, your arms sliding around his neck. He kissed you until you were breathless, your blood boiling with need for him. Of course, it was that moment that he chose to reach past you, open the truck door, and pull away from you, laughing at your protests, a smirk on his adorable, bearded face.

“I hate you,” you muttered as you climbed into the truck, crossing your arms and pouting.

He jumped in beside you, his hand settling on your knee, squeezing gently. “No, you don’t,” he chuckled.

You hated that he was right. You didn’t hate him, not even a little.

* * *

You were sprawled across Chris’s bed, half dressed, wearing only a t-shirt and your white lace panties, listening to him on the phone with his best friend from home, seemingly reliving every moment of the Patriot’s loss. You couldn’t help but smile at his anger and irritation, at how animated he got talking about his favorite football team. You rolled to your stomach, pulled a pillow beneath your head, and closed your eyes. Chris’s deep voice washed over you, relaxing you.

You were almost asleep when a heavy weight settled over your back, a cold hand slid beneath your shirt, and lips danced along the lacy edge of your panties. “No sleeping, princess,” he murmured.

You sighed, wiggling a little, your ass coming up when he slid his hand beneath your stomach, lifting you to meet his mouth, his lips drifting over your hips and back. He twisted his fingers in your panties, slowly peeling them off of you, his lips trailing after them, his beard tickling the back of your legs. He took his time, exploring every inch of bare skin with his mouth and his fingers, never quite putting them where you really wanted them, teasing and torturing you until you were a quivering, needy mess beneath him.

“Damn it, Chris,” you moaned, twisting the sheet in your hands, squirming, trying to turn over.

He chuckled, sprawled over the top of you, his hard, muscular chest pressed to your back, his knee planted between your legs, his lips on the back of your neck, the kisses driving you insane with need. His hand slid down your back and over your ass, between your legs, his fingers teasing at your entrance. 

You gasped when he sank two fingers into you, pushing back onto his sinfully long fingers. You pressed your mouth against your arm, stifling your cries as Chris worked you open, whispering filthy things in your ear, things he wanted to do to you, the things he was going to make you feel. Those words, coupled with the things his mouth and fingers were doing to you, pushed you right up to the edge, your body thrumming with desire, legs trembling, hands scrambling for purchase, trying desperately to ground yourself, to keep yourself from completely losing control. Not yet, anyway.

Chris lifted you, pulling you to your knees, his hands on your hips, easing into you, groaning low in the back of his throat as he filled you, burying himself to the root. He wrapped his arms around you, yanking the t-shirt over your head before cupping one of your breasts in his hand, tugging at the nipple with his thumb and forefinger, his hips pumping, his breath hot on your neck as he thrust into you.

You squeezed your eyes closed, letting yourself get lost in the sensations Chris was drawing out of you. His hand slid down your stomach, his finger circling your clit, circling it until you were shaking, right on the cusp of an orgasm, your body wound so tight you knew you couldn’t last much longer. God, you were so close.

You fell forward, catching yourself on your hands, pushing back against Chris, your cries growing louder and louder as he slammed into you. He leaned over you, one hand on your shoulder, his other on your waist, pounding into you so hard, so fast, that the small twin bed was slamming into the wall, the box spring squeaking. You were gone, lost in the pleasure, falling over the edge, the orgasm exploding through you, every inch of your body on fire.

Chris’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your hips, so tight you could almost feel the bruises forming. He growled, slamming forward one last time, his cock buried to the root inside of you, his own orgasm working its way through him. 

The two of you collapsed to the bed in a tangle of limbs, Chris laughing when his chin collided with the top of your head. It took a few seconds for the two of you to get yourself situated in the tiny bed, but after a lot of maneuvering and Chris manhandling you quite a bit, the two of your were squeezed together, Chris on his back with you lying on top of him, legs twisted together, his arms around you, your head on his chest.

You were quiet for a few minutes, wondering if you should even bring it up. You liked things how they were with Chris, the unspoken agreement you had. Neither of you had dated anyone else since that crazy party a few months ago, and you knew that you didn’t want to. You assumed Chris felt the same way.

“Chris!” The door rattled on its frame as one of his fraternity brothers pounded on the flimsy wood. He stumbled from the bed, hopping on one foot as he tried to yank on his boxers, dropping the used condom in the trash on his way to the door. 

You pulled the blankets up to cover your nakedness, jumping when his phone went off on the bedside table. You didn’t even think, you just grabbed it. 

There was a text from someone named Alice on the notification screen.  _ Still on for tomorrow? _

A weird feeling twisted in your gut. You should have known. Everybody knew what happened when you made an assumption. The whole “ass of you and me” crap. You pushed yourself out of the bed and hurried to put on your clothes. Your stupid car was at the bar, which meant you’d have to walk. You didn’t care, you could use the air. 

You stopped beside Chris, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, mumbling goodbye before you took off down the hallway and out the door, ignoring him as he called after you.


	5. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re still upset with Chris after seeing the text message from the mysterious Alice. You think it might be time to move on.

You hadn’t seen Chris in a few days, which was nothing unusual, you often went days, sometimes a week or more without seeing him. He’d called a few times, sent several messages, all of which you’d ignored. You just needed some time, a chance to get your head in a better space than it currently was. You’d talk to him later.

You were hurrying across the huge lawn in the commons after your last class on Friday, staring at the ground as you walked, wondering if you could get Tara to meet you at Pinkies, a bar on the other side of town that was not your usual hangout. You weren’t in the mood to see Chris, not yet, but that didn’t change the fact that you could use a night out and a few stiff drinks. It just needed to be at a bar that Chris didn’t frequent. 

You weren’t watching where you going, not when you were staring at your feet, so it was no surprise that you ran smack into someone. And that someone was Chris.

“Hey,” he smiled. “I’ve been trying to call you.” 

You pushed a hand through your hair and shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve been, uh, busy.”

Chris took a step closer and wrapped an arm around you. “What do you say we get dinner this weekend? Just the two of us?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” you asked. “An actual, real date?”

“I guess so, yeah,” he chuckled. “Whadda you say?”

This was a first, him asking you to dinner. And without half of his fraternity tagging along for fun. The two of you never went out alone, and you’d definitely never been on a date. Your relationship was based solely on sex.

As much as you wanted to say yes, you couldn’t get that text message out of your mind. You shook your head and removed yourself from Chris’s arms. “You know what? I’m going to have to think about it. I’m not sure  _ Alice _ would appreciate me dating her boyfriend.” You stepped around him and took off across the lawn, sprinting at top speed.

* * *

“You know I hate this place, right?” Tara yelled in your ear.

“I know,” you replied, equally as loud. Truth be told, it wasn’t your kind of place either, you preferred the bars you usually hung out in - the sports bar three blocks from the university, the waffle house across from the football field, even the coffee shop on Westerly. Pinkies was a pool hall; loud, crazy, and everything was, well, pink, hence the name. The walls, the stools, even the twenty-five or so pool tables. Everything. It was like Pepto Bismol had vomited all over the place. 

“Can’t we just go to Zipp’s?” Tara added.

“No! Chris is probably there!”

“Which is exactly why we should be there, too.” Tara rolled her eyes. “You two need to work this out, for fuck’s sake. Let’s go to Zipp’s and you guys can talk it out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped. You picked up your drink and wandered into the middle of the crowd, looking for an empty pool table. You found one in the back corner. Tara followed you, muttering under her breath.

You were convinced she was going to grumble and complain all night, until a couple of guys - cute, funny guys - made their way over. They came bearing drinks and food, and the next thing you knew, the four of you were playing a game of pool. It was definitely helping you take your mind off of Chris. And Tara’s grumbling finally stopped.

After you and Mike beat Jake and Tara - again - in a game of couple’s pool, Tara grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him up to the bar to get another round. Mike was dropping coins into the slot when you turned around. 

“Another game?” he asked. “Just us this time.”

“Sure,” you agreed, ready to play someone that was on your level. “Just don’t cry when I beat your ass.”

Mike chuckled, low and thick. “Want to bet on it?”

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Okay then,” he said, “if I win, you go out on a date with me.”

“A date? With you?” You were shaking your head before the words were even out of your mouth. “I barely know you.”

“Well, dates usually help with that -” he smirked.

“I guess I’ll just have to win then, won’t I?” You rolled your eyes, grabbed your pool cue, and lined up your shot.

A half an hour later, you were staring at the pool table, trying to figure out how you could possibly drop two balls, one of them the eight ball, with one shot and without scratching. You walked around the table for several minutes, taking your time, finally settling on your shot. You took a deep breath and aimed.

One ball rolled down the table, sinking into the corner pocket, nudging the eight ball, pushing in the direction you had hoped it would go. You held your breath as it rolled toward the side pocket and dropped in. Followed closely by the cue ball.

Scratch.

“Well, shit,” you grumbled, dropping the pool cue to the table. You smiled at Mike. “Guess we’ve got a date.”

“That we do,” Mike laughed.

* * *

You’d agreed to the date with Mike, after all, he’d won the game fair and square. You were meeting him Wednesday night at an Italian place downtown. Tara was pissed at you, arguing that you needed to talk to Chris, figure things out with him, before you went out on a date with some guy you barely knew. And Chris, well, he’d been blowing up your phone with texts and voicemails, begging you to talk to him. 

Which was why you were standing outside his room, even though your dinner date with Mike was in just a little over three hours. You pushed a hand through your hair, glancing over your shoulder at the fraternity brother that had let you in and led you upstairs. Maybe you should just run, turn around and go, forget this insane idea you had about talking to Chris, breaking things off with him, allowing yourself to move on. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. You knocked on the door, three sharp raps, loud like gunshots.

“Come in!” Chris shouted.

You pushed open the door, stepped inside, and closed the door, leaning against it, smiling shyly at Chris. He was sprawled across his bed, surrounded by books and papers, mumbling as he read whatever it was in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his papers and pushing himself out of the bed, weaving through the clothes strewn about the floor to stop in front of you. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

You had to close your eyes for a minute, catch your breath. He was shirtless, in only a pair of burgundy boxers, his tattoos - tattoos you’d traced with the tips of your fingers, your tongue - on full display, his abs, his pecs, all of it, killing any resolve you had. You’d never been able to resist him.

“Chris,” you sighed.

He put a hand on the door beside your head, leaning over you, his blue eyes boring deep into your soul, the tips of his fingers resting on your waist, his lips inches from yours. “I’ve been texting and calling you for days.”

“I know,” you mumbled, forcing yourself to look at the ground, focusing on a black converse tossed haphazardly beneath a chair. Anything not to look at his very distracting face. “That’s why I came by. I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Chris asked, his lips now on your jaw, sliding up to your ear, his teeth gently nibbling at the lobe.

You swallowed thickly. “I, uh, I’ve got a date in a couple of hours,” you murmured.

Chris froze, his lips no longer moving against your ear. He took a step back, his arms crossed over his substantial chest. “You’ve got a date?” He sounded genuinely hurt.

You nodded, not quite sure what was happening. You hadn’t expected Chris to be hurt by the revelation that you had a date, hadn’t expected this response at all. He always took everything in stride, seemingly unfazed by anything, a constant smile on his face. You weren’t sure how to deal with an angry, stiff, irritated Chris.

“Are you angry?” you asked, still dumbfounded at his response. 

“Fuck, yeah, I’m angry,” he snorted. “What about us?”

“Us? Is there an  _ us _ , Chris? I thought we weren’t anything more than fuck buddies. I’m not sure there has ever been an  _ us _ ?” You pushed yourself off of the door, pissed that he had the nerve to say anything, not after the text you’d seen on his phone. “And what about you? It’s not like you’re completely devoted to me. What about Alice? I know you had plans with her, Chris. Who the fuck is she?”

“Alice? How the hell -” Chris sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. “Alice is my cousin.”

“What?”

In two strides, Chris was back in front of you, his hands on your waist, pushing you against the door. “She’s my cousin, Y/N. She was in town last week, checking out the university. I was showing her around.” He rested his forearm against the door, his head down, the hand on your waist squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. 

He was so close you could smell him, smell the musky scent of his cologne mixed with the spicy scent of his deodorant, even a hint of the soap he used. You were angry with him, angry with yourself, pissed off that the two of you were both such incredible idiots that you’d gotten to this point. You opened your mouth to tell him that, but he cut you off with a kiss, a desperate, hungry kiss. 

You dropped your purse to the floor and threw your arms around Chris’s neck, returning the kiss with the same angry desperation as Chris. You were moaning, pressing your body against his, palming him through his boxers, all while he shoved at your clothes, yanking them from your body, none too gently. Once he had you out of most of your clothes, except for your bra and panties, he bent over and scooped you up, crossing the room to his bed in just a few steps. He lowered you to it, shoving his books and papers to the floor.

You took off your bra, threw it to the floor, then you hooked your fingers in your panties and shimmied out of them, tossing them aside. Chris was on you before they hit the ground, his hand between your legs, his mouth closing around your nipple, sucking greedily, almost painfully, his fingers teasing at your opening, both of you groaning when they slid inside of you, your back arching, your hands clamping down on his upper arms as you ground against his fingers.

Chris was three fingers deep inside of you, thrusting deep and hard, bringing you to orgasm so quick you felt like you were spinning out of control, black spots filling your vision, sweat breaking out all over your body, waves of intense pleasure rolling through you. 

“Fuck me,” you gasped, your nails digging into his biceps.

Chris chuckled, his lips now on your neck, nipping and sucking as he wrapped an arm around you, lifting you and easing into you, a deep, guttural groan leaving him as your warmth surrounded him. Your hands were on his ass, nails digging into the flesh, your legs wrapped around the back of his thighs, pulling him into you, moaning as he stretched you wide. 

You were trembling, poised on the edge of perfect oblivion, Chris’s hands planted beside your head, holding himself inside of you as he caught your lips in his and kissed you, teasing you with the slow drag of his cock in and out of your throbbing pussy.

“Chris,” you gasped, back arching, head thrown back, your body thrumming with desire.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tipping your head back, those cerulean eyes staring deep into your soul. He pressed forward, so deep inside of you that you didn’t know where he ended and you began, his pelvic bone pressed hard against your clit, the sensitive nub swollen and aching. His lips were a breath away from yours, his words marking you forever.

“You’re mine.”

Chris’s hips rolled and that was all it took before you were coming with a loud cry of his name, the orgasm sharp and sudden. Chris let loose, pounding into you repeatedly, his tongue tangling with yours, your body still caught in the throes of the climax, unbelievable pleasure encompassing every nerve ending.

Chris buried his face in your hair, his grunts and moans filling your ear, their intensity increasing until he let go with the loudest moan yet, his body tensing, a shudder running through him.

He kissed you, gentler, calmer than his previous kisses, rolling to his side, pulling you with him, so you were lying facing each other, limbs tangled together. He brushed your hair away from your face and kissed the tip of your nose.

“You’re not just a fuck buddy, Y/N,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

“I didn’t,” you shrugged, your eyes closed, too embarrassed to admit the truth. “I didn’t know  _ what _ we were.” You rested your forehead against his chest. “I knew what I wanted us to be, but I didn’t know you wanted it, too.”

“Babe, I haven’t looked at another girl since that frat party all those months ago,” he said, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Liar,” you giggled.

“Okay, looked, yes,” Chris chuckled, “touched, no. It’s just you. Nobody else.”

You finally looked at him, sighing. “Really?”

“Really,” he replied.

You kissed him, putting every unspoken emotion into it, showing him exactly how you felt. It was obvious he felt the same, returning the kiss with an intensity that made your heart pound. When he finally pulled away, it took you a second to catch your breath.

“Where’s my phone?” you grinned. “I’ve got a date to cancel.”


	6. Dodger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go home with Chris to meet his family. And Dodger.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Evans,” you smiled at Chris’s mom. She shook your hand warmly and ushered you inside.

Chris kissed his mom on the cheek, then he stepped around her and yelled “Dodger” at the top of his lungs. Excited barking filled the hallway and then a blur of white and brown fur was flying through the air, right into Chris’s arms. He fell to the ground, the dog standing on his chest, madly licking his face. Chris was laughing, eyes squinted closed, scratching and petting the pile of fur sitting on him.

Mrs. Evans patted you on the arm. “Come on, I’ll get you something to drink. Let these two get reacquainted.” 

You followed her, giggling at the spectacle the man and the dog on the floor were making of themselves. Once in the kitchen, you slid onto one of the barstools at the counter, fielding Mrs. Evans’ questions about her son - “how long had the two of you been dating, was he behaving himself at school, could you get him to call home more often?” You sipped your iced tea, nodding in the appropriate places as you listened to her talk, answering her questions when you could. You were still only half awake after barely sleeping the previous week, thanks to final exams.

It had been Chris’s ideas to get away for a few days, head to his parents house. Neither one of you was interested in hanging around campus, participating in the plethora of parties being held at various sorority houses. You just wanted to relax and not think for a few days before you flew home for Christmas. Chris had also thought it might be a good, no pressure way for you to meet his parents, now that you were officially a couple. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that you were nervous as hell.

Chris appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, the dog at his feet. He crossed the room to stand beside you, his arms sliding around your waist. Dodger sat beside him, staring up at him, his head cocked to one side as if he was trying to figure out just who you were.

You slid off the stool, kneeling beside him. You held out your hand, palm down, and let him sniff it, which he did, tentatively. He looked up at Chris, as if waiting for permission. Chris nodded and said “it’s okay, boy” which prompted Dodger to nudge your hand with his nose, one paw on your knee as he licked it.

“See, he likes you,” Chris said, crouching beside you. 

Dodger yipped, then disappeared down the hall. A few seconds later he reappeared, a tennis ball in his mouth. He dropped it at Chris’s feet, staring at his master, tail wagging. Chris picked it up and threw it down the hall, Dodger bounding after it. Seconds later, he was back, dropping it in the same spot. 

The more they played, the louder they got, Dodger barking, Chris laughing, the ball flying all over the house, bouncing off Dodger’s nose, hitting the counter, the refrigerator, the stove, flying past Mrs. Evans’ head. It went on for almost ten minutes before she slammed her hand down on the counter, brandishing a wooden spoon, pointing it at Chris.

“Christopher Robert Evans,” she shouted, freezing not only Chris, but Dodger in place. “That is enough. If you want to play with that damn dog, take it outside.”

“But Mom,” Chris whined, “it’s cold out.”

Mrs. Evans didn’t say a word, just pointed at the back door with the wooden spoon in her hand. Chris snatched the ball from the floor, then he called Dodger, leading him out the back door. 

His mom leaned across the counter. “You might want to take him his coat,” she whispered, smiling.

You hurried down the hallway, grabbed both of your coats from the closet and then went back through the kitchen and out the back door. Chris was sitting on the steps on the back patio, throwing Dodger’s ball, the dog never seeming to tire. You dropped onto the stairs next to him and set his jacket in his lap. You laid your head on his shoulder.

“You got in trouble,” you giggled.

Chris chuckled, dropped a kiss to the top of your head, and slid one arm around your waist. Dodger wandered over and laid on the step at your feet, staring up at Chris, nudging his hand with his nose every time Chris stopped petting him. The two of you sat outside watching the sunset until Mrs. Evans called you inside for dinner.

Dinner was a family affair, Chris’s parents, his brother, and both of his sisters, as well as their significant others. It was loud and crowded. You loved every minute of it.

Afterwards, Chris and his dad disappeared into the living room, and soon you heard them shouting at a game on the TV. You got to know Chris’s brother, Scott, and his sisters, Carly and Shana. They were sweet, warm, welcoming, making you feel like a part of the family. Chris would wander in every now and then and hang out until his dad started yelling and then he would hurry back to the living room.

It was almost midnight, and you were having trouble keeping your eyes open, stifling yawn after yawn, so you excused yourself, following the sounds of the game on the television. You came around the corner to find not only Mr. Evans asleep, but also Chris. He was stretched out on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, his arms thrown out to his sides, Dodger asleep on one of his arms. They looked so adorable that you couldn’t resist pulling out your phone and snapping a picture. Mr. Evans stirred, grumbled something about stupid, late night games, pushed himself out of his chair, and disappeared down the hall.

You leaned over Chris, pulled his hat off of his head, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He stirred, smiling sleepily at you. He took your hand and tugged, pulling you down beside him. He stretched out on the couch, Dodger growling a little when Chris made him move, but he got up and curled up at the end. You laid down beside him, let him wrap you in his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. He sighed contently. 

You were almost asleep when you felt a weight settle on your legs. You looked down to see Dodger squeezed between you and Chris, his head on your leg, snoring. You smiled, snuggled closer to Chris, and closed your eyes.


	7. Mardi Gras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris decides to throw a Mardis Gras themed party at the frat house.

“Mardi Gras,” you scoffed. “Like, ‘show me your tits and I’ll give you beads,’ Mardi Gras.”

Chris smirked, not fully understanding why you weren’t happy about it. “It’ll be fun, babe. There’ll be a parade, we’ll all wear masks, and get drunk off our collective asses. Think of it as a celebration of passing our finals.” His hands were on your hips, rocking you side to side with him, eyebrow dancing goofily.

“Masks, you say,” a playful lilt to your voice.

He hummed in agreement. “And togas.”

With your fingers dragging through the short hairs on the back of his neck, you asked, “I thought you said Mardi Gras.”

“With togas,” he chuckled.

“This is either going to be the best, or the weirdest kegger ever,” you teased, settling nicely between his thighs.

“It’ll be the best,” he assured you, pulling you closer yet.

You gnawed on your bottom lip as the beginnings of an idea came to you. “Yes it will be.”

* * *

The music was loud, but the throng of people were louder, swarming the frat house, writhing together as if they were the same being, pulsing to the beat of the music. They were all happily drunk, laughing and dancing, making out and fucking in not-so-dimly-lit places, filling the house with thick, tangible lust. 

You had purposefully kept your distance from Chris during the Mardi Gras / toga party, watching from behind the safety of your mask as he looked for you, a dark twinkle in his eye, one that you recognized all too well; he was horny as hell. But you made him wait until you were ready to make your move.

Chris was sitting in a recliner in the main room, head back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling rhythmically. Wearing a smirk, you made your way over, and straddled his lap, adding a roll of your hips that made Chris’ cock twitch.

“Hey, baby,” he hummed, hands heavy on your thighs.

Leaning over, you teased his lips with yours, pulling back just as he went to kiss you. Chris dug his fingers into your bare thighs when your hand pushed under the hem of his toga. “Let’s go upstairs,” he murmured, eyes blinking lazily.

“Let’s not,” you argued, pulling his half-hard cock from the dark boxer briefs. You stroked him, twisting your hand over the wide head, rolling your hips, nuzzling your nose along his scruffier-than-usual jaw.

Chris barely bit back a moan, pupils dilating, fingers squeezing marks into your skin. “Ba- baby, we… shouldn’t… people here,” he sputtered, his feet widening their stance.

You kept stroking his almost fully erect and pre-cum beaded cock as you put your mouth by his ear. “And they’re all busy. Either they’re fucking, or they’re about to. They won’t pay any attention to us,” you purred, grabbing his hand from your leg. “We can stop and go up to your room, which I’m sure is occupied.”

“Or…” he choked, hips rocking in time with yours.

You shifted so that your toga rose, pushed his hand between your legs, moaning low in your throat at the sensation of his fingers dragging through your slick folds. “Or I could fuck you right here.”

Two fingers plunged into you, curling, pumping, scissoring, making you moan louder. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped as you returned the favor by squeezing and pumping his cock, the thick vein on the underside pulsing harder.

Panting heavily, you forced yourself to rear back from Chris’ hand, and lowered yourself onto him. It didn’t matter how many times you and Chris had had sex, you hadn’t gotten used to the sheer size of him. God, you hoped you never did get used to it. It was addicting, the way he stretched you out, filling you so completely that it took your breath away.

The thrill of having sex in public, though no one could really see anything, drove a tremor of intoxication through you. With your hands on Chris’ chest, and his on your hips and thighs, you did exactly as you said you would, and fucked him. Hard.

Chris had his head pushed back, eyes clamped shut, mouth slung open, breath tearing in and out of him as his hips rose to meet yours, driving into you harder and faster, deeper, hitting your g-spot with precision. The orgasm rolled over you like a freight train; it stole your vision and the breath from your lungs, your nails dug into Chris’ chest, pulling blood to the surface without breaking the skin; barely. He was right behind you, his hips pumping furiously, stuttering, stalling as he drove into you one last time, groaning heavily when another smaller orgasm washed over you, squeezing his sensitive cock.

Gasping for air, you fell to his chest. Your bones felt like rubber, and your heart was pounding like a jack-hammer, matching his perfectly. The two of you stayed there until your hearts beat normally, until you could breathe, until his cock was soft and sliding out. You pushed up just enough to catch his lips, kissing him long and leisurely.

With a smirk, he ran his nose against yours. “Told you it’d be a great party.”

You chuckled softly and ran your hands through your damp and messy hair as you sat up. “You sure did.”

Chris winked, his eyes slowly coming into focus, the pupils shrinking back to normal. “Where’d you get all those beads?”


	8. Study Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Chris have a late night study date at the library.

Chris pushed his hat back with one hand and scratched the top of his head. He reached across the table, his hand closing over yours, tugging gently.

“What?” you sighed.

“C’mere,” he grinned.

You narrowed your eyes at him and shook your head. “No, I’m studying.” You tapped the book in front of him. “You should, too. Isn’t your economics paper due at the end of the week?”

“We’ve been studying for -” he snuck a look at his watch “- two and a half hours.” He leaned over the table, a wicked smile on his face, one eyebrow raised. “I’m sick of studying and I’m tired. It’s almost midnight. Let’s go get some food, then head back to the frat house, get some sleep.”

You also leaned over the table, your faces just inches from his. “I know why you want to go back to the frat house and it’s definitely not to sleep. You’re not fooling anybody.”

Chris kissed you, one hand cupping the back of your head, holding you close. You were gasping for breath when he finally released you, your skin flushed, your heart pounding. He traced your lower lip with his thumb, grinning that stupid grin that made you both extremely irritated and incredibly horny.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

You moaned, desire making your stomach clench in anticipation. “Chris…”

He leaned closer, his lips pressed to your ear. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday, the things we did, how good you tasted, how perfect your mouth felt wrapped around my cock. Do you know how bad I want you right now?” he whispered. “How bad I want to put my mouth on you? How bad I want your mouth on me?”

Your tongue darted out, your tongue tracing your lower lip, your eyes half-closed, the memory of the previous day’s activities invading your thoughts, filling you with heat, making you blush. You’d never done anything like that before, and you hadn’t been able to think about anything else since. Truth be told, you’d been hoping that studying would take your mind off of it. Apparently, Chris wasn’t going to let you forget.

You threw a glance over your shoulder, trying to see who else was in the library. You and Chris were at one of the tables in the back corner, bookshelves surrounding you on three sides, the table pushed up to the wall, leaving just enough room for someone to slip around back and sit down. You could just see a few other tables on the other side of the library - one with a very intense young man, whose table was covered in papers, his headphones on, and his pencil scribbling down to a nub before he’d toss it aside and grab another; the other occupied table was an older student, most likely a junior or senior, whose head had been down since you’d arrived; she was either asleep or dead. The circulation desk, near the doors, was being covered by a sleepy looking sophomore named Dan, one of Chris’s frat brothers. He could barely make eye contact with your boyfriend, professing to be slightly intimidated by the upperclassman. There were a couple other people scattered around the impressively large university library, but you couldn’t see them, only hear the occasional sneeze or slam of a book. The lights were down low, most of the tables lit by a single lamp, the better to conserve energy, a directive instituted several months back by the dean of students.

Chris cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to him. He kissed your cheek, his warm breath blowing against your skin, his intoxicating scent filling your head. God, you wanted him.

You glanced around again, but your corner of the library was fairly dark, the lamp on the table not bright enough to illuminate more than the width of the wooden expanse. Before you could change your mind, you slid out of your chair and crawled beneath the table.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Chris mumbled.

You didn’t answer, you just crawled forward and put your hands on Chris’s thighs. His muscles jumped under your touch and you could feel them tensing as you moved them up his thighs to the button of his jeans. You popped it open and quickly slid the zipper down. Chris’s legs fell open, an obvious invitation, so you pushed yourself between them and hooked your fingers in the waistband of his jeans, dragging them down past his ass. You eased your hand into his boxers and pulled his already hardening cock free.

You ran your hand down the length of his shaft, stroking him slowly from top to bottom, twisting your wrist at the last second and dragging your fingers through the soft hairs at the base. Chris let out a stuttering sigh, his hips wiggling slightly, coming up to push himself into your closed fist. You used your finger to trace the thick vein on the underside of his cock several times before rubbing a small circle just beneath the head. Chris’s hand tightened on his thigh, blunt nails digging into the thick denim, his cock pulsing in your hand.

Chris’s fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just a little, but holy fuck, you _liked_ it, liked it way more than you’d realized you would, and shit if you didn’t want him to do it again. A low, guttural moan slipped past his lips, quiet, so quiet only you could hear it, but it was there, and what had started as maybe nothing more than a joke, a quick tease, now became something more.

You wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock, holding him tightly, your tongue darting out to lick him from root to tip, swirling quickly around the tip and across the slit. You leaned forward, one hand on his thigh, the other still wrapped around his cock, and sucked the tip of it into your mouth, your tongue pressed to the sensitive spot just beneath the head. It jerked in your hand. 

You mouthed and licked Chris from top to bottom, caressing him with your lips. He shifted, one ass cheek coming up off of the chair a little bit, the hand in your hair sliding around the back of your neck, urging you forward, silently encouraging you to take as much of him as you could. You pushed yourself to your knees, the top of your head brushing against the bottom of the library table as you positioned yourself to pull him deeper into your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You heard Chris make an odd, strangled sound, and then a disembodied voice muttering something from the other side of the library, though you couldn’t really hear what the voice said, not that it mattered, because the only thing you cared about was swallowing Chris’s cock and sucking him off until he came down your throat. You grasped the base of his cock, tight, and dragged your lips up his length, pre-come flooding your tastebuds.

“Christ, Y/N,” Chris groaned, his hand fisted in your hair, pulling it as you bobbed your head up and down, deep-throating him.

You had no idea what was going on above you, or what Chris was doing, you only cared about what you were doing, your face buried in Chris’s lap, his hard length pulsing in your mouth, pre-come spread over your lips, and tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. You took him as deep as you could, until you were nearly gagging, your throat constricting around him. It could have been five minutes, ten, an hour, you had no clue, you were too consumed with what you were doing to Chris.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his hips thrusting, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

You moaned, the sound muffled, though you were sure it was still loud enough for everyone in the library to know what you were doing. You swirled your tongue around the tip of Chris’s cock, wishing you could see him, look into those bright blue eyes and see what he was thinking, what he was feeling. You chanced a glance up, but all you could see was his hand on the table, gripping it so tight his knuckles were white.

You planted one hand on his thigh, the other holding his cock at the base, sliding him in and out of your mouth, deeper and deeper with every thrust of his hips, the shaft pulsing and throbbing in your hand. Chris came with a muffled groan, his hand on the back of your head, holding you tight against him. You worked him until he was spent, his hand falling away, his body going limp, his soft cock sliding out of your mouth.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then you fell to your hands and knees, crawling out from beneath the table just enough to look around. You didn’t see anyone, so you rose to your feet. Chris grabbed you and pulled you into his lap, catching your lips in his, his hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, squeezing gently.

“Now can we go back to the frat house?” he murmured. “My mind is definitely not on studying.”

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Yeah, I think we can to that. I’m really not that interested in studying anymore either. Besides, I think you owe me one.”

Chris burst out laughing, earning himself a loud “shhhh” from the direction of the circulation desk. You both hurried to shove your things into your backpacks, holding in your laughter. You left a few minutes later, Chris’s arm around you, his mouth pressed to your ear, whispering promises of what was to come.


	9. Pay Attention to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You want Chris to pay attention to you, but he’s too busy studying for finals.

“I hate finals,” you muttered, tossing your pen on the bed.

Chris snorted. “I don’t think any of us like finals, babe.” He was sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, a pillow and a blanket crumpled up beside him, books spread out in front of him, along with a couple of empty Chinese food containers and empty water bottles.

“Let’s take a break and go grab a beer,” you suggested.

“No,” he shook his head. “We already went out for food, then we went back to your dorm to grab that book you forgot, and then you laid down here and took a nap.” He pointed at the pillow and blanket next to him. “We’re staying here. I have to pass this economics final, my scholarship is on the line. And you need at least a B on your History final.”

“Your scholarship will be fine,” you scoffed. “You’re a straight A student. Though I don’t know how with all the partying you do.”

“It’s a state of mind, babe,” Chris laughed. “And studying when I need to.”

You pushed your books off of your lap and crawled to the end of the bed. You took hold of Chris’s head, tipping it back, forcing him to look at you. You pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“Then let’s stay here and take a break,” you murmured, sliding your hand inside of his shirt and over his chest.

“You’re the devil,” Chris muttered.

“I’m not,” you whispered. “I just want you to pay attention to me.”

“Mmm, yeah?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you replied, sliding off the bed and onto his lap, pushing his book out of your way. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips a breath away from his. “We don’t have to go anywhere, we can take a break right here.” You rolled your hips, grinding against him.

Chris groaned, his hands falling to your hips and squeezing not-so-gently. “You’re not playing fair,” he growled.

“Nobody said I had to play fair,” you giggled, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, pushing it up and over his head. You leaned forward, your tongue drifting over the tattoo on his collarbone. “We can be quick,” you promised, kissing your way up his neck, to the underside of his jaw. “Then, you can go back to studying and I’ll leave you alone.”

“You’re killing me, Y/N,” Chris whispered, but he wasn’t pushing you away, instead his hands were beneath your tank top, sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples.

You caught his lips in yours, your tongue pushing into mouth, the kiss quickly consuming both of you. When you broke apart, you were both panting.

“So,” you murmured, “what do say?”

“Nothing wrong with a quick break,” Chris chuckled, winking.

“No, nothing at all,” you giggled.

“So, stop talking and fuck me already,” he demanded. “I want to hold onto this pretty ass while you ride me.”

You climbed off of him, just long enough for the two of you to remove your clothes, then Chris pulled you back into his lap, shoving his hand between your legs. He eased two fingers into you, scissoring you open, while your hand closed around his thick cock, stroking him roughly. You were both moaning, gasping and rock against each other, desperate to get each other off.

Chris’s mouth was sealed over your breast, sucking greedily, three fingers buried deep inside you, working to open you enough to take his substantial length. You were writhing against him, your body already wound so tight you weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Jesus, babe, I’m ready,” you moaned.

Chris nodded, lifted you, and quickly lowered you onto his cock, filling you completely. You braced your hands on his shoulders, your knees on either side of his hips. The angle was perfect, the feel of him inside of you always the best feeling in the world. You rocked your hips forward, your walls fluttering around him, drawing a muffled ‘fuck’ from him.

He moaned, one hand gripping your ass so hard you were sure it would leave marks, the other tangling in your hair, pulling your head up so he could look at you. He yanked you forward, thrusting into you, hard. He pressed his mouth to your ear. “Fuck me hard, babe,” he snarled.

You nodded, pressing your knees against the floor on either side of his hips, grinding down onto him. His hips flexed, pumping into you over and over. You rode him hard, not letting up, your breasts bouncing, brushing against his naked chest, your clit pressing against his pelvic bone, rapidly pushing you toward orgasm. Chris pulled your hips down, thrusting so deep into you that you thought you might pass out from the sensations it was causing.

“Fuck yeah, gorgeous, that’s it,” Chris groaned. “Just like that.” He was panting, sweat running down his neck and chest, the muscles in his thighs hard and tight as his cock slid in and out of you. “Come on, babe, let me feel you come all over me.” His hand slid between your bodies as he braced his feet against the floor, pounding into you, fucking you like you’d never been fucked, his cock brushing across your sweet spot while he thumbed your clit until you let loose with an obscene moan, coming hard. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you held on for dear life, wave after wave of unbearable pleasure washing over you.

Chris grunted, his hands on your shoulders, pulling you down onto him, groaning as his own orgasm swept over him. His head fell to your shoulder, his entire body shuddering as he came.

You collapsed against him, gasping for air. “Wow,” you mumbled, placing several gentle kisses to his neck before sitting up. You tried to move off of him, let him get back to studying, but Chris held you against him as he rolled to his side, lying you on the floor next to him. He kissed you, his hands running over every one of your curves, his eyes following his hands as he caressed you.

“I thought you needed to study,” you murmured.

“I do,” he chuckled. “So do you.” His lips closed around your pulse point, nipping hard.

You moaned, your hand sliding down his stomach. “Yeah, I do,” you laughed. “Later.”

“Definitely later,” Chris agreed, pulling your legs around his waist. “Much, much later.”


End file.
